


The Rains of Highever

by BritaniaVance



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cousland (Dragon Age) Backstory, Gen, POV Morrigan, Revenge fic, Sorry Not Sorry, this started as a drabble and turned into 12 pages...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritaniaVance/pseuds/BritaniaVance
Summary: The party happens upon an inn, keen on having a warm meal and a good night's rest before hitting the road again, until the Warden spots a few men she finds uncomfortably familiar in the inn's tavern.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	The Rains of Highever

Morrigan had never been more relieved to come upon a tavern. A  _ tavern _ , of all places. Bustling with all sorts, likely the unfavorable kind of folk (which was, so it happened, quite literally  _ anyone _ ), she tried to hide how pleased she was with a half-hearted snarl once the dumb Warden suggest they pull off the road for the night and try to secure a few rooms. 

Their things had grown damp and cold in the recent rains, so the idea of making camp before nightfall was a dismal one, and with the amount of people on the road Morrigan didn’t quite feel safe using magic out in the open with so many potential witnesses. Not for her own sake, like she could give a damn. She could hold her own and then some. But she was doing it for  _ her _ , the pretty Warden, the one who saw her as a sister now even if Morrigan didn’t want to admit it. At least, not yet. 

Given what they had all been through at Redcliffe, they could all use the rest, Morrigan included. She didn’t want to admit it, but the battle had sapped her most of her energy. Not just in the fighting, but in the healing afterward, and in maintaining her mask of indifference she kept up despite it all.

They filed into the inn, each one dripping wet and soaked cold to the bone, instantly warmed by the hearth that greeted them upon entering. The inn keeper immediately waved them over, eager for customers with coin to spare. With an easy smile, Arden offered the gold needed for two rooms, a few meals and ale. Morrigan could faintly hear the innkeeper ask if wine was alright with them, and Morrigan tried not to smirk, happy with the change of menu since ale never felt quite her drink. Arden looked over at Morrigan after affirming that it was, as if reading her mind, a slight smile on her girlish face. Morrigan held her gaze but did not smile, still too guarded, though touched that someone would remember her preference. 

The inn was bustling otherwise, as Morrigan had feared, but there was a table nestled against the wall that was free for all of them to set their things down while their rooms were prepared, and Morrigan was thankful for the sparest of spaces to call her own for the time being. Taking a spot in the corner, farthest from everyone, she set herself down and wrapped her hands around her mug of wine, thankful the barman had enough sense to warm it first, given the weather. 

The others hadn’t started talking yet, still recovering from a long day on the road. Morrigan preferred this, despite the activity that flurried around them. In the silence, Alistair had already begun polishing his bracers, Leliana restringing her bow, and Arden sat silently, sipping her wine, while Sten stood at the far corner of the room with Arden’s mabari Duke at his side, far more comfortable with the warrior beast than with humans, few of which had taken notice of him yet. Morrigan knew it was only a matter of time. 

“What are you thinking about?” Arden asked, a sly smile crossing her face as she nudged Morrigan in the arm. It was meant as a friendly gesture, but Morrigan internally flinched at the contact, still so unused to it, and unsure whether she desired this sort of well-meaning intimacy.

“Oh, the usual,” Morrigan sighed, back straight as she scanned the room, lest she appear at ease or give the impression that she was, “People watching, taking note.”

In the few moments since they’d arrived, Morrigan had already spotted a couple in the corner arguing, their conflict clear despite the passive expressions on their faces. Their bodies were rigid, talking in hushed tones without making eye contact, their smiles harsh and unfeeling, meant for the onlookers rather than one another. And in another corner was a thief, making his way round a group of thugs’ unattended pockets as they played a loud game of cards near the hearth. And beside them were refugees, ravenously slurping up whatever slop they served at this place, Morrigan knowing full well they’d all receive a helping in a few moments.

“Oh? Anyone I should know about?” Arden was trying to be coy,  _ cute _ even, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Morrigan wasn’t keen on Arden getting any more physically friendly than she already was, but part of her wanted to keep talking, realizing she actually _ liked  _ when the girl sauntered up to her in camp and asked her questions about both everything and nothing.

“I’ve learned everything I need to know from looking, from watching. Go on, try it.” 

Morrigan always preferred to watch than to participate, always having felt that participating, that interacting, was playing into some made-up social ideal of human experience that felt somewhat fabricated and false, even if the mere idea of talking  _ to _ someone was supposed to be the authentic part. She’d had a desire to learn about other people from a young age, and that curiosity persisted, but she had no desire whatsoever to fit herself into their narrow expectations of what a person should or should not be, tacking on useless titles and identifiers that only served to somehow label you as  _ other _ no matter what you did. For Morrigan, she would always be a  _ witch _ , an  _ apostate, chasind, wild,  _ and even if she was none of those things she would still be a  _ woman -  _ and somehow even her basest sense of being was a strike against her. So instead of playing the game, she extracted herself from it completely. She played the part of Other and relished in it, wondering all the while what Arden, a girl of noble birth and everything that sort of thing carried, thought about that. 

Arden furrowed her brow, but took up Morrigan’s challenge, examining the inn with her chin held between her thumb and forefinger in mock scholarly observation. Morrigan smiled at that, quickly before swallowing her expression - but Arden noticed, glad to have gotten something out of Morrigan at all. But just as quickly as she smiled, she assumed an air of utter seriousness, taking Morrigan’s suggestion to heart.

After a moment, Arden leaned closer, her bronze braid glistening gold in the hearth-light, though careful not to touch Morrigan this time, as if privy to her earlier distaste, and whispered, “The man at the end of the bar is eyeing Sten, for one.”

Arden gestured with her cup towards the door, the man she referenced glancing over his shoulder after every few moments at both Sten and Duke, both hulking figures on guard in the corner by the door. Sten, with his usual stoic facade bereft of emotion, and Duke, all eager smiles and drooling fangs.

“And I fear that man over there is about to sing,” she said, wincing as she pointed to a table closer to the center of the room. 

Morrigan’s eyes fell on the figure Arden pointed out, huffing a laugh at the sight.

“I’d hardly call him a man, more like a  _ boy _ ,” Morrigan said, noting his lack of facial hair and abundance of baby fat. “This should certainly be interesting.”

At this Morrigan smirked, intrigued though afraid that they would all be in for an earful just as the boy pulled out a lute and began tuning it, the frills on his sleeves catching on the strings every few moments. Arden chuckled at her side, taking another sip as they waited with baited breath for the minstrel to start singing or  _ something _ .

“Hey, have either of you seen my-” Alistair butted in, but Morrigan hushed him before he could finish speaking, resulting in the man souring on the other side of the table and asking his question again to Leliana, in a hushed voice this time.

Just as the chantry sister shook her head, the minstrel took up his instrument, Leliana’s startling blue eyes glancing in his direction, rolling them as the realization came upon her as well.

“What, is he competition or something?” Alistair joked, noticing the disaster about to happen as well. “Despite no longer being a bard, I mean.”

“Not exactly, but if he even  _ attempts  _ to play  _ Empress of Fire _ , which he’s using to tune up, he will have every swordpoint in this inn pointed at his pretty little face.”

Arden turned to look at Leliana at this, and Morrigan as well, the surprise at her words washing over them at the same time. Even Alistair looked at her wide-eyed before coughing purposefully, and adding, “Well, it  _ is _ Ferelden after all. If there was one way to get Loghain’s attention it would be doing anything remotely Orlesian within our borders.”

“That, or killing the-” Morrigan almost said  _ the king _ before Arden nudged her sharply in the ribs, “ _ Ow! _ ”

“Can you please stop joking about that?!” Alistair said through gritted teeth now, leaning over the table and nearly topping Morrigan’s cup over. “I know the politics of it all are just some big  _ joke _ to you but-”

“Hush, I think the poor fool’s about to start,” Leliana interrupted. Everyone grew quiet, as did the rest of the inn, having taken a wary notice of the minstrel and lowering their conversations to a murmur not out of politeness but out of curiosity.

For a moment, Morrigan wondered if this is what it was like to grow up with siblings, having seen enough children chase and quarrel with one another in her travels. She cast her eyes about the inn once more as the quiet conversation settled into a rhythm to see if anyone watched them or sent suspicious glances their way, used to being labeled an outsider on principle but careful to make sure they went unnoticed now that they were tasked with saving the world out from under the King(Lord) Regent’s nose. Was  _ this _ what it was like having siblings? Arguing with them one minute but growing defensive if anyone else dared the same.

Before she could ponder, the minstrel began playing, and…

“It’s… surprisingly pleasant,” Morrigan found herself saying after a moment, the rest of the table nodding in sober agreement. The minstrel sang no words, instead humming a countermelody along to the tune he began playing (which was probably for the best), careful to leave an upturned hat on his table in case any present felt so inclined to leave a copper or two.

“I don’t think I know this song,” Leliana mused, trying not to appear too engrossed in the performance, though Morrigan could tell just by the look on her face that she was trying to pick out the notes as they wafted over them in the murmuring din while she continued tending to her bow. 

“I’d be rather surprised if you knew _ every _ song,” Morrigan mused. “Such a thing is impossible.”

Leliana pursed her lips, looking at Morrigan pointedly and looked as if she might roll her eyes in response though she managed to refrain.

“Of course I can’t know  _ every  _ song,” Leliana countered, her voice its usual Orlesian-tinged sing-song, “Yet most original songs tend to sound like something else, no?”

“I think I know what you mean,” Alistair said, looking back at the shine in his bracers still set on the table, angling them just so to see how shoddy his work was in the nearby candlelight, “Like how so many travel songs take after  _ Calenhad’s Call _ .”

“Exactly,” Leliana answered, “Melodies so often resemble one another out of merely having memorized them. As a bard, it’s hard not to call on what you know even when you are trying to write something new.”

Morrigan scoffed, rolling her eyes where Leliana refused to more than once, and crossed her arms as she turned back to the whole of the tavern hall again, trying to follow Arden’s gaze as she sat quiet, taking the room in.

“So, notice anything new, or-?” Morrigan began, but Arden cut her off before she could finish.

“It’s  _ Amaranthine On High _ .”

Arden’s voice was cold, her posture suddenly stiff at her side, her gaze unblinking.

“Amaranthine?” Morrigan said, finding herself wary of breaking the sudden tension, “On the Storm Coast?”

But this time Arden did not answer. Leliana and Alistair did not notice, having gone back to their menial tasks while their food was still being prepared, but Morrigan sat wondering, apprehensive, as Arden sat beside her without another word, watching on as the men across the hall continued their gambling, unaware of Arden’s staring. She’d never seen her like this, her eyes fixated, her limbs rigid, but with poise somehow. She was thinking, Morrigan could tell, but for what she was not sure.

Arden had been watching the minstrel, but Morrigan now saw that he was accompanying the men playing cards across the room, likely playing a song in their favor to earn more of their coin. The scene was not unusual for Morrigan, having stepped into a tavern or two in her time, trailing behind caravans that dared near the Wilds when the opportunity arose. But why this interested the Warden and changed her countenance so? She could not guess.

Morrigan sipped her wine quietly, no longer expecting any further response from Arden beside her. The girl continued staring, now with arms crossed, eyes mere slits as she angled herself carefully towards the bar, as if not to arouse too much suspicion. The song changed, and suddenly Arden stood, a smile on her face, her gait easy, almost lazy, lusty if Morrigan were being generous. 

Morrigan’s eyes darted across the table to Leliana, who also noted Arden’s sudden change, exchanging glances as they shrugged in shared confusion. It took a moment for Alistair to notice as well, and when he did Leliana hit his arm with a hurried “ _ Hush! _ ” as she turned in her seat to see just what it was that Arden was doing.

Holding her cup in a vice grip, Morrigan drank the last of her wine and found her mouth dry, hungry for more, unexpectedly finding herself… afraid. Arden was always so level-headed, diplomatic, prudish even as she teased Alistair about his sexual experiences or lack thereof when the two of them thought the others weren’t listening in and snickering all the while. 

With an unusually lofty air, Arden meandered over to the mens’ table, smiling at them, almost seductively - her eyes heavy-lidded and her lips purposefully plump as she smirked. From across the tavern Morrigan could hear her ask, “Mind if I join?”

The closest of the men balked, blinking up at her at a loss for words. Arden took his silence for compliance and pulled up a chair. The two men closest to her exchanged glances while the others looked on interestedly, sharing a quiet word or two between their cards. None seemed displeased, though a spot confused, though judging by their faces none seemed to mind. Arden waited, smiling at each of them, a sharp look in her eye as she made direct contact with every one. Whatever response she was anticipating, she did not receive it, for Morrigan saw a glimmer of disappointment (or perhaps it was surprise?) flicker across the Warden’s face once she’d looked every man sat around the table before her, none with a word to say for her presence other than a leering grin that she might go to bed with one of them, should they be so lucky.

The rest of the conversation Morrigan could hardly hear, but Leliana was leaning just as closely and just as careful not to appear too obvious while Alistair kept leaning over the table and nearly toppling all their drinks over every few moments to get a better look, clearly uncomfortable with whatever show Arden was putting on and the attention it was getting. But the man stayed put, to Morrigan’s surprise, either too eager to see how this all played out or just as willing to trust Arden with this charade as Morrigan was.

But truth be told, Morrigan had no idea what the girl was getting at, or what sort of game she was playing. They had only known each other for a relatively short amount of time, just outside a month if Morrigan was correct, but this was just…  _ so _ unlike her, so unusual, that even Morrigan was rendered speechless. It might have been something  _ she _ would do, just to test men’s mettle, if she’d had the patience, or perhaps if she’d wanted something. But what exactly did  _ Arden  _ want?

Eventually the men dealt Arden into their little card game, the Warden peering over her hand of cards with a devilish look on her face the men easily mistook for friendliness - such as men are. After a while, Arden throws the game and wins not but a penny, but she smiles nonetheless. The inn grows quieter as some of the other patrons move outdoors or to their secured rooms upstairs, and the barkeep’s wife finally comes round with their suppers, but Arden remains playing cards with the men across the room without so much as a backward glance.

“Where did you say she was from again?” Leliana asked after a while, her voice quiet, almost solemn as she sipped from her second cup of wine, just as nervous as Morrigan though Morrigan would never admit it.

“Highever, I think,” she responded, thinking back to Arden’s questions about the Flemeth myth, about her mother, testing the tales she was told as a babe against the story Morrigan told her by their camp’s firelight. “Why?”

Leliana’s face paled.

“You haven’t heard the rumors? I wasn’t sure if they were true, but-” she said, spinning around to see if Alistair had an answer. But the young man only looked back at her, his gaze dark - and that was enough of an answer for Leliana it seemed, though she was in no mood to ask him to elaborate.

“Can I buy you another drink?” said one of the men across the room, his face red as he gazed at Arden, part blushing and part heavy with wine. Arden smiled, wicked, and nodded.

“Maybe we should-?” Alistair started, but Leliana only hushed him again before looking to Arden, eager to see how this all unfolded, Morrigan included, though she did not indicate as much. 

“What, exactly, is she doing I wonder?” Morrigan queried into her cup.

“I’m afraid I might already know,” Alistair groaned, head held in his hands. “I’m not sure this is such a-”

“She can handle herself,” Leliana interrupted in an urgent whisper.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Alistair said, slumping into the table now, surrendered.

Morrigan wanted to agree with Leliana - let the girl sort out her affairs on her own, whatever her intentions may be - but there was something about her air, Arden’s entire demeanor, that was just so entirely  _ off _ that it left Morrigan with a horrible unease she could not shake as she watched on with rapt attention, for once sharing in Alistair’s sentiment and detesting every moment of it.

The barkeep replenished their drinks and collected their silver, paying extra mind to the men across the room. Morrigan noted that Arden was careful enough to barter not one, but two drinks on her behalf. The two men that flanked her balked as she downed one cup in a single go and start on the other, never breaking eye contact all the while. Leliana glanced at Morrigan, raising her eyebrows, clearly impressed but unsure nonetheless. Morrigan echoed her gesture, watching as a few more patrons left the inn’s main room, leaving them alone with the men across the room and the minstrel playing for their benefit alone, it seemed. Even two of the men from the card game recused themselves, leaving only three.

A few stragglers remained in the outskirts if the inn’s greatroom, gravitating towards the shadows, minding their business, and only the Wardens’ ragtag group of misfits seemed interested at all in what was unfolding near the room’s hearth, at least everyone but Sten - even Duke was on alert now, his hears low and back, his posture stiff as if ready to pounce, but patient nonetheless. 

Quieter now, Morrigan heard more of Arden’s words as she spoke half-way across the room, her eyes still uncharacteristically lidded, her voice almost rasp - a bit like her own, if she thought about it.

“What say you to a game of five finger fillet?” Arden asked once half of her second drink was consumed as the three remaining men only watched, wide-eyed, their expressions stuck somewhere between intimidation and arousal.

No one responded to her query, though there was a round of nervous laughter. Arden did not flinch. With that wicked half-smirk now a permanent fixture of her expression, a sharp glint in her eye, she reached back around for the dagger safely tucked into her belt. With a flip of her wrist, Arden twirled the blade - it’s sharp edge glinting in the firelight - and splayed her other hand on the table, immediately darting the point betwixt her fingers without even looking, her gaze still fixed on the men beside her.

Eyes wide, they watched on, suddenly afraid to speak.

“Seen any good fights lately?” she asked, easing into her smile.

The man beside her said something incoherent about a fight near Denerim, some spat between a noble upstart and the local alienage. The other one laughed weakly. But Arden shook her head.

“Did you happen upon the Highever Tourney this past summer?” she said, her blade moving quicker now, her aim impeccable.

The three men exchanged glances, one excusing himself to speak with the barkeep about drinks while the other two took their time in agreeing to shake their heads with a resounding ‘ _ no’ _ their expressions unconvincing. Morrigan knew they were lying the moment Arden asked the question, having decided to spin the lie as soon as she spoke, noting: the dark looks, the sudden hunching of the shoulders, as if to shield themselves from something unseen, their shifting gazes before they dared meet Arden’s sharp eyes again. They no longer looked eager for her to continue, whatever it was she was doing, yet the presence of a pretty girl in their midst stayed their hands, working against their judgement, Morrigan could tell - otherwise, why would they stay despite their discomfort? With only two of them present now, she was bound to sleep with one of them, right? Or so Morrigan suspected they believed…

“I hear it was a lad from the Bannorn who won the melee,” one of them said eventually, attempting a smile as he also attempted friendly conversation, giving Arden the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh?” she said, her fingers still unscathed, the blade never stopping. “Did you happen to catch his name?”

“Er, dun’think so,” he answered, slurring as he took another swig of drink instead of elaborating. 

“Bannorn, huh?” she confirmed, feigning interest, as if she didn’t know the answer already. “Any word on who bested Ser Barristan in the joust?”

“Aye, none can best that man,” the other perked up, clearly a fan of whoever this was, “That Wiscard from Killarney is an upstart and a  _ cheat _ , and I’ll be damned if-”

“Is that so?” Arden said, pleased to see the men ease up around her again, the other one joining in now.

“No offense, but Barristan is a bit old now, ain’t he Merrick? He’s about, I dunno, fifty now.”

“Sure, but man’s a  _ legend _ ,” the man called Merrick said, suddenly confident with drink. He inclined his head towards Arden and asked, “May I?”

He extended a hand towards her dagger, patient as he awaited her reply. She raised her brows, surprised, before surrendering the blade hilt first. Without as much as a thanks, the man began trying his hand (pun not intended) at five finger fillet.

“He didn’t notice the hilt,” Leliana muttered, almost imperceptibly, but she wanted Morrigan to hear. She was catching on, and she wanted to see if Morrigan followed as well. Under any other circumstances, Morrigan might have shot the chantry sister a glare, but in this instance… she was right, and Morrigan knew it. When Arden held out her dagger, she held it crest-up,  _ on purpose _ , hoping one of the men would catch the image of twin laurels engraved in the mother of pearl glinting in the firelight… but neither of them did. 

The other man was piss poor at this game, his fingers slow and fumbling, but Arden smirked despite it, glad he was falling into whatever trap she had set and happy to know he was too drunk to  _ use _ the dagger with any accuracy. Morrigan wanted to laugh, unsurprised by men of this sort and whatever ilk they bore, but kept her mouth shut for she wanted to know what it was the Warden had up her sleeve exactly…

“What about that archer, eh?” the other man joined in after a moment, gathering his courage the more he drank, no longer intimidated by Arden but happy to be in her company.  _ The fool _ , Morrigan thought.

“Heard it was a woman,” the other one said, “But that’s just rumors.”

“No rumors,” Arden chimed in, “I met her, actually.”

“Oh really?” the man with the dagger said, smiling over the hilt fumbling in his fat fingers, inelegantly stabbing the table every few moments, barely missing the skin of his hands.

“It’s true,” she said, almost growing solemn, “All of it.”

Just at that moment, the minstrel picked up his song again, as if sensing the mood in the room and seeking to lighten it with his lute. Morrigan rolled her eyes and waved at the barkeep for another mug of wine, placing a copper on the table for whatever that would buy her. Glancing at Alistair, Morrigan noticed the man was still hunched over his bracers, as if shining them into a mirror… he  _ knew _ . He knew whatever it was Arden was doing, whatever her motive, and whatever that was scared him. He’d tried to stop her, but backed down the moment Leliana asked. Morrigan wanted to chalk it up to the man’s cowardice, but judging by the look on his face, she knew it was more than that. It was… earned, somehow, whatever it was that Arden was doing. He understood it, on some level, though he may have feared the outcome. The barkeep came round with Morrigan’s wine, and with a nod she sipped at the rest quickly, faster than she intended, eager to outdrink her dread as the feeling crept over her.

“Aye?” one of them laughed into his ale, the foam spilling over the edge, “How’d you know?”

“Because that girl was me.”

The men paused and Arden only smiled wanly at them. The one with the knife froze, the blade teetering as the edge now pierced the scrubbed wooden table that separated them from Arden. She plucked it from the wood and admired its glittering gleam in the hearth-light.

“It’s interesting that you both know so much for not having been there,” she said, her voice barely audible over the lute, now strumming a sweet melody as if in a reverie, “Ser Wiscard was actually the famous Ser Barristan’s squire once, so I’d say his victory is still Barristan’s. The man’s a good teacher,” she laughed before pausing in thought, her voice hollow, “And it was the captain of the Highever guard that won the melee, one Ser Gilmore, I’ll have you know.”

At this, the man on the left’s face drained of all color, skin as pale as paper as he watched Arden continue without another word.

“I saw you talking to him in the stables the following day, as I recall. Chatting about the mares,” she looked him in the eye now, the blade held firmly in her hands. “Funny, how I saw one of the very same mares tied up outside. I didn’t think so at first, but…”

Arden angled the dagger so the two men could see the sigil etched into its side now. 

“I’m surprised, y’know.  _ I really am -  _ that Rendon didn’t make you memorize my face,” she said slowly, grinning eerily now, her eyes alight, “I would have hoped you’d recognize the daughter of Bryce Cousland if you saw her.”

Just as the men’s eyes fell on the blade’s laurel sigil, Arden stabbed the dagger into the man’s still outstretched hand on the table, staking it to the wood in a slow-growing pool of blood.

The minstrel stopped playing, mid-song, the remainder of the tavern’s inhabitants turning to watch. Morrigan stood stock still, her muscles tense as Leliana unconsciously grabbed her arm in a vice grip. Alistair had his bracers affixed to his forearms again beside them, gleaming in the tavern light as he sat with his pack ready to go, already realizing that they were never meant to stay here. His somber, amber eyes met Morrigan’s for a moment, and as if in confirmation, nodded his head with a glance at her stuff, beckoning that she, too, get her things ready before this got ugly. Duke barked from across the hall, nearly bursting out of his leash under Sten’s grip. Morrigan faltered, eyes wide, as she watched between all of them, Leliana at her side, also realizing, now gathering up her bow in case she had need of it. 

Morrigan reached for her staff as she turned back to Arden, her face ghostly and garish in the firelight, her eyes wide and pale, her features manic as she looked the man in the eyes while she held his bloody palm to the wood, screwing the blade in deeper as she awaited a response.

The man beside him jumped up, scrambling for a scabbard that was no longer attached to his now-drunk hip, but just as he did, Arden produced another blade from the back of her belt and shot it, the blade catching the flesh of his ear and pinning it to the column of wood behind him. 

“Especially if you were supposed to kill her, no?”

Without another word, Arden leaned across the table, never breaking eye contact, and grabbed both their drinks, not blinking once as she drowned them both, an eye on each of them as they scrambled in drunken shock and disbelief. 

“Best tell Rendon Howe that Arden Cousland sends her regards,” she sneered once she slammed the last of the mugs back down on the table, foam spattering out of it and onto the men’s faces. “ _ Because he’s next _ .”

Arden turned her heel and walked back to their table, her expression blank, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She finished her wine and spooned a few mouthfuls of stew between her teeth before slinging her pack back onto her shoulder. 

“Are we done here?” she said to the lot of them, as if disinterested. Morrigan and Leliana shot up, as if they were reprimanded soldiers being called to attention. Alistair was already on his feet, looking grim, eager to leave. Duke, beside the bar, struggled against the Qunari’s firm but gentle grip, teeth lashing at open air as he snapped at the men across the room, the minstrel looking on in horror. Before awaiting her party’s response, Arden tossed a coin at him, laughing loudly when the boy caught it with his teeth.

“Good dog,” she said, winking, before patting Duke on the head as Sten surrendered him, his face grim, and leading the mabari out of the tavern and into the night.

No one asked any questions. No one said anything at all. Morrigan had seen her fair share of human spats in her time observing their behavior from afar, but nothing like this. The night air was a sharp slap to the face once they left the warmth of the inn, the rain coming down as more of an annoying mist than a downpour. Morrigan, for once, mourned the loss of a warm bed as Arden meandered over to the stable beside the inn.

“I say it’s about time we had some horses, no?” the Warden said, untying the three Storm Coast Coursers from their posts, rubbing the neck of the mare in the middle’s affectionately. As if she knew her and was making up for not recognizing her earlier.

Leliana took one of the horse’s leads uncertainly, but not unsurely. She would follow Arden into hellfire, Morrigan knew, but she could tell Leliana was hesitant about asking after what exactly had just transpired. Glancing at Morrigan and locking eyes, her piercing blue to Morrigan’s honeyed yellow… Morrigan knew she felt the same. 

Arden passed the last horse’s rein to Morrigan, which she took with a wavering hand. She met Arden’s gaze, hard and sharp, like she’d never seen it before - and there, that was when Morrigan saw it - the bit of Flemeth in her, like the tales. The avenging woman, tempered yet unkempt with rage. She’d laughed when Arden had recalled what she knew of the Flemeth myth, of what ghost stories were told at Highever castle and of the woman who once lived there. But if there was ever any truth to those stories, there was truth to them now, and Morrigan witnessed it, alive in Arden’s sea-blue eyes. An avenging angel, righteous with fury. 

And keen on saving the world despite it. 

**Author's Note:**

> The synopsis I wrote for this was originally a paragraph long but ended up being 12 pages... sorry not sorry. Title inspired by none other than Game of Thrones, of course.


End file.
